


Beyond the Grave

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd just wanted ship duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zortified (james)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



> written for fic_promptly's Secrets round, for the prompt: Vorkosigan Saga, any, s/he never meant to be the keeper of secrets

Ship duty. That had been what he'd wanted, when he'd graduated from the provincial military college. A nice posting on a cruiser, perhaps, working his way up through the ranks, maybe one day attaining the exalted position of ship's captain. That was ambition enough for a prole boy whose parents had scrimped and saved to put him through college. How had he come to be here?

 _Chief of Imperial Security._ The words were pounding through his head, drowning out all other thoughts. Some of that, he supposed, was the fever. The last dose of painkillers was wearing off, and his arm throbbed and his head was swimming. He'd spent the last of his adrenalin reporting to the Lord Regent, first burned up with the relief of finding his lord alive and in command here at Tanery Base, and then stunned by the responsibility Aral had so casually laid on him. All he'd planned was to go back to his old job, guarding the Regent and his family. And he'd already failed in that twice. Why, why had Aral given him a third chance to screw up with even higher stakes? He longed desperately for that ship posting, clean and simple compared to this mess.

He ought to get to sickbay, get his infected arm sorted out and then--then he'd try to face this job. He'd seen the plans of Tanery Base, and knew he was _here_ , and sickbay was _there_... it was disturbingly hard to read the map in his mind's eye and walk in a straight line and not fall over. And he was the Chief of ImpSec. The Chief of ImpSec ought to be able to read a map and walk at the same time.

A hand closed on his good elbow. Illyan whirled around dizzily. It was the Regent. Illyan tried to straighten up and look like someone who could be the Chief of ImpSec. From Aral's expression, he wasn't entirely successful.

"Were you holding out with me about your injuries?" he demanded.

"I felt okay earlier," Illyan said. "And I'll get started right away, sir," he added, trying to keep his mind on the main point.

"You'll go to sickbay right away," Aral retorted. "Come on." He walked with Illyan through the corridors, which at least meant Illyan could give up on the map.

"Are you sure--are you sure you want me for this job?" Illyan asked after a few minutes of trying and failing not to lean on Aral for support.

"What is this, mutiny?" Aral said. "I gave you the job and I meant it. You're qualified, you're loyal and you won't drive me crazy like some of the other members of the General Staff."

His brusque dismissal of Illyan's self-doubts was both alarming and reassuring. "Yes, sir," Illyan said, automatically. But after a moment, he said, "I don't have seniority, though. What about the heads of Domestic or Galactic Affairs?"

"What about them? Do we even know whether they support me, or Vordarian?"

Illyan tried to think. He ran over the moment the news had reached him at HQ, trying to work out where Issos of Domestic Affairs had been... there, in the background as Illyan had rushed out, Issos had been heading in to the Chief's office. And five minutes after that, the entire of HQ had been locked down, rendering it unable to help Vorkosigan and Negri. "Issos was for Vordarian," he said, and at Aral's startled look realised that had been a rhetorical question. "I don't know about Galactic Affairs, though."

"And you think you're not qualified," was Aral's response.

"I let Vorhalas get past me. And Vordarian."

"You think perhaps I'd forgotten either of those little incidents when I appointed you?" Aral said. "Negri's had you lined up as his successor for years. It's just come a bit early, that's all."

That was a lot more than Illyan was ready to deal with. "Oh," he managed. Then he began to make the connections. So _that_ was why Negri had assigned him to Vorkosigan at Escobar. How long ago had this trap been prepared for him? "Bastard," he said, and realised he'd spoken aloud. Aral gave a short laugh.

"Yeah, he set you up for this. He and Ezar both made their plans to rule beyond the grave, and we get to make the best of it." He stopped and turned to face Illyan. "I need you in this job, Simon. Badly. And I say you can do it. So don't come to me and tell me you aren't up to it."

Illyan straightened, painfully. "My lord," he said. There wasn't anything else he could say, anything else that needed to be said. Aral regarded him for a minute, then gave a nod.

"Right then. Sickbay."

As the frowning medic cleaned and bandaged his arm and dosed him with antibiotics and painkillers and something to bring the fever down, as he obtained a uniform with new Horus eyes and blue captain's tabs, as he found the office assigned to him, Illyan tried to believe that he was the Chief of ImpSec. Whatever ImpSec was now, a hostile building and a divided and confused group of men, none of whom were going to be pleased with their new Chief. He wasn't Negri, to dominate them by the force of his personality and the weight of history. He was going to have to be different. No. He hadn't wanted this job, but he would serve where Aral sent him. He was going to have to be better.


End file.
